


Havoc Boys

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Child Soldiers, Children, Clones, Escape, Gen, MT Prompto Argentum, Magitek, Pre-Brotherhood, Prisoner of War, Torture, Unethical Experimentation, attack on Tenebrae, child harm, dehumanization of child clones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-02 12:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Prompto hates being sent to Medical and the constant threat of being terminated as a defective clone, but one day he meets a strange boy there. Ignis might have the information the Empire needs to locate King Regis after the attack on Fenestala Manor, but Prompto doesn't care. He just wants to help his new friend get home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to everyone at the Ignis Whump Discord for the encouragement and patience. ♥ to egelantier, Lagerstatte, gooseberry, neomeruru, and queenoftheswarm.

Prompto was in Medical again – what a great way to start the new year – because his stupid arm rejected the chip that just went in a few months ago. The technician pulled the chip, cleaned up the messy hole, and glued the wound shut, just like all the holes before. Prompto had so many scars there the techs prepped the next site on his left arm, taking pictures and notes and samples of blood and tissue.

He hated it. He knew that when he was fully grown he'd be Evolved into a soldier and his physical vessel would be left behind, whatever that meant, but that didn't mean he had to like having his arms all lumpy and weird.

He was put on a drip and told to lie still until it finished. There were a few comics – MagitekTrooperz backissues – and weapon manuals on the side table, but he'd read them all before. Medical was _boring_. He waited until the techs were busy off in the pharmacy and then got up. He was allowed to go to the toilet, and that was about as exciting as it got here.

He rolled the drip pole carefully down the corridor to the toilet, swiped his code to get access, peed, and then gave in to temptation. He wanted to see what the new wound looked like, so he tugged the bandage down carefully. The glue was bloody and gross, and he felt a bit sick when he poked it. But that was probably due to the drip; he always felt queasy when he was getting treatment. He went out, and that was when he noticed the room next to his was Occupied.

He didn't think before he slid the door open; he hoped it was someone he knew and could pass the time with. He was utterly shocked to see an unfamiliar boy – or so he assumed. _All_ boys looked like him (blond hair, freckles, blue eyes) even if the specifics of height, weight, eyesight, and intelligence varied depending on how their genetics had been tweaked. He'd never seen one like this, though, with dark hair and green eyes and the wrong shape of face altogether.

He could only think of one explanation, and he blurted it out: "Are you a girl?" He'd never met one, but they were in stories, sometimes. Meeting one would be cool.

But the kid on the bed stopped staring at Prompto like he was scared of him and instead squinted like he thought maybe he was stupid. "No," he said, slowly, as if he was being patient with one of the V-series toddlers. "Are _you_?"

That sounded snotty; the bullies who picked on Prompto for being husky and needing glasses said stuff like that. He'd be facing whispers in the dorm today again, saying if he couldn't even keep his chip in, there was no way he'd ever Evolve, which was usually good enough reason to try and grab his rations or mess with his stuff. Prompto pulled his shoulders back and refused to let his chin wobble, his hand clenching tight on the drip pole as he took a step back.

"Don't go," the boy said, sitting up even though he winced and pressed his arm across his stomach. His eyes were wide and he looked scared again. "I'm sorry."

Prompto bit his lip. If he wasn't a girl, there had to be another reason he'd never seen this boy in the dorms or cafeteria or gym. He took in the boy's painful thinness, the way he squinted, his gnarled fingers that bent oddly and hand swollen stiff that way; combined with his odd coloring and what sounded like a speech defect – he must be a failed clone, kept viable for some reason despite his mutations. He was probably sick a lot, maybe that was why he was rude. He didn't have a dorm-cohort, older series to take care of him or younger kids to look after.

"There's comics in my room," Prompto offered, deciding to take pity on the kid. "Do you want me to read them to you?"

"Please," the boy said, still looking agitated. "May I have your name?"

"Prompto. What's yours?"

The boy swallowed hard, and then took a deep careful breath. "Ignis."

Prompto had never heard of an I-series. On the one hand, now he couldn't tell how old Ignis was. On the other, this was a real-life mystery, just like in the story books, and he got to be the investigating MP.

"Give me a sec," he said, and slipped back into his room to grab the comics. Ignis was lying down again when he came back, and Prompto sat on the edge of his bed carefully. "I got issues 34, 45, 46, and 72. Any requests?"

"Begin at the beginning?" Ignis said after a moment. He sounded amused and confused at the same time. "I don't have my glasses."

"You can borrow mine," Prompto said, feeling generous as he handed them over. He opened up the well-worn pages and started reading.

When he judged that he had five more minutes before the drip finished and the ear-piercing beeps would alert the techs, he gathered the comics up and said goodbye clumsily. Ignis looked actually sad that Prompto was going. Or maybe he just minded handing the glasses back.

"What dorm are you in?" Prompto blurted out. "Maybe I can – " He mimed swiping doors open with the code on the back of his hand. (He felt awkward; he didn't want to seem like he was showing off. He'd noticed that Ignis was too defective to have been given an access code. He couldn't even open the door to his room to go to the toilet, and that had to suck.)

"I'm in the holding cellblock," Ignis said quickly, like he was afraid. "In _prison_. Don't come looking for me. If you got caught..."

Prompto wanted to ask a hundred questions: what cellblock? Where was it? What had Ignis done? But he didn't have time, and Ignis' nervousness was contagious; he didn't want to get caught by the techs. Especially in here, _consorting with a prisoner_.

"Bye," Prompto yelped, comics crushed to his chest, and ran, half-dragging the pole behind him.

Once he was released from Medical and back home safely in his dorm, he tried very hard for a couple of hours to forget about Ignis and all his mysteries. But he'd never had a natural aptitude for doing the right thing, even when he meant to. And until now, he'd never met anyone who was more defective as a clone than he was, so he felt the same protective urges he was meant to feel toward kids from younger series.

After dinner (which he didn't eat much of, still feeling the effects of the medicine), his cleaning squad was assigned to scrub out the bathrooms and empty the trash from R Sector, and change the bedding on all the bunks. The squad leaders were going to be Evolved in a few months, and they were bossy assholes (said everyone behind their backs). But Prompto got along well with Nisus, who'd be one of the new leaders once they were gone. Nisus was gangly and had a sharp narrow face with a perpetual grin. He knew everything. Or at least bragged that he did.

Prompto grabbed a scrub brush and went to join Nisus in washing down the communal showers, biding his time until they got a moment alone and then asking in a fast nervous whisper, "Is there a prison here?"

Nisus squinted down at him, hands still automatically wiping away soap scum. After a moment he made a face, wrinkling his nose. "You're not defective," he said, obviously meaning to be kind. "Don't listen to what the other kids say, okay? They just want to get a rise out of you. The techs sent you back, so you must still be viable. You'll get re-chipped, it'll be fine."

Prompto rocked up on his toes with the force of his secret and his frustration, trying to think of a plausible story. "The Oracle," he blurted out. "She's our prisoner now, I heard from – you know." The dorms officially only got carefully curated, educational news reports, but there were always rumors, fed by the kids who hacked their way into off-base systems. Nisus was friends with them, he knew, if not necessarily involved in the rule-breaking. "Wouldn't it be cool if she was here? We could talk to her," he added, padding the fiction out. "She could tell us about life outside."

Nisus wiped his hands off on his pants and then gave Prompto a clumsy one-armed hug. "Don't stop trusting in Father Besithia," he said bluntly. "The Oracle wouldn't help you even if she was here, which she isn't – she's too important. Probably she's in Gralea, being shown why it's useless to resist the might of the Empire. The people who get locked up here are just waiting for trial, like Darriun and Raxo, remember them?"

Prompto nodded. They'd been on the service staff and were supposed to be good examples for the younger series, but instead they'd stolen stuff out of the medlabs one night, got high on it, and smashed up two snowmobiles trying to race through the woods.

"They got sent to Gralea, too," Prompto recalled gloomily. "To be made an example of."

"Pretty sure that's the sanitized story for little kids, and they were just shot after their judging," Nisus said, with a weird frisson to his words. "Even outside-born get deactivated if they're not viable, and they were dumb as rocks." And then he glanced at Prompto and pulled on a fake-looking reassuring smile, his eyes cutting quickly to the corner of the room. Prompto never really understood why anyone would want surveillance cameras in the showers, but now... he supposed maybe because people talked there, and said things they shouldn't. Maybe _he_ had said something wrong. "You'll be fine, though."

"I just want to be normal," Prompto said, and rubbed at the bandage on his arm when the words came out more like a bratty whine. "Hey, will you help me with the auto crossbow? Skills trainer said I need to improve."

Nisus looked relieved to be offered something concrete he could do, and to have the subject changed. He was going to be a good leader; he actually cared about the younger series. "Sure thing. Now stop goofing off and get back to work." 

*

Once he knew there was a prison, Prompto started looking. The secure areas where kids weren't allowed were grayed out on the access maps, but the base had produced thousands of clones, engineered to be intelligent, who'd years ago reached a critical density of curiosity about their surroundings. If a door opened, odds were a kid had slipped inside at some point and reported back his findings. By subtly asking around (and keeping one eye on the cameras), Prompto was able to build a decent mental map of the hidden-away parts of the base.

He had, he thought, two big advantages over the others. One, he had an older training tablet that had been reported as lost, that he found mixed in a pile of blankets in Storage Closet 15. He'd disabled its connection to the system, of course, which meant it was more of a toy than a tool, but the camera was good. Once he removed all the textbooks and instructional videos, he had lots of storage, too, and he'd been very careful to never let anyone know he had it. Like a secret weapon, kind of.

The other advantage was that he couldn't be tracked or shut down without a chip, and he was the only clone he knew who was without a chip for large chunks of time. Eventually, he knew this would be what got him terminated; the last time he was in Medical, having the new chip site examined, he'd noticed the techs flagged his file with red, not yellow. He didn't tell Nisus or anyone, but the secret made him feel... reckless, he supposed. Sneaking into prison to go see Ignis was a risk, but what was the worst that could happen? He was already defective and living under an impending death sentence.

It took a couple of weeks of diligent work before he had a satisfactory plan. He used his secret tablet to snap pictures of staff IDs (not as easy as it sounded; he had to be good at peering around corners and lying in wait in closets and under desks), and enhanced the images of their barcodes until he had a nice library of people he could pretend to be. The custodial and maintenance staff, he decided, were the best – they had legitimate reasons for going everywhere, like frozen pipes and burned-out lights. As long as no one noticed that they were in two places at once, he'd be able to move smoothly out of the clone dorm areas and into the rest of the base itself.

He put his plan into action one afternoon after a sports lesson. He swiped himself into the shower locker room, and then in the chaos of sweaty, rambunctious boys, swiped himself out with his tablet, using Qin-from-the-room-next-door's code. That bought him half an hour or so, he hoped, to get as far as he could before someone noticed he was gone.

He still half-clung to the idea that he'd be coming back, even though his sports bag contained changes of clothes, a week's worth of energy bars filched from snack times, and two pairs of sturdy combat boots. He wasn't sure he could find the prison, and even if he did, Ignis might not be there. It'd been weeks. Maybe he'd been sent to Gralea. Maybe he was doing all this for nothing.

But he didn't have much time to worry about that, though: too busy trying not to get caught. He'd broken into the service corridors before; he liked them because there were fewer doors to swipe through, and more unlocked stairwells and closets to hide in. Plus no one was usually on the lookout for stray children back there; they were busy with their work, pushing trolleys of supplies or gossiping with each other. Most uniform jackets had their barcodes sewn on the front pocket and the left sleeve, and Prompto grabbed seven of them, easy-peasy, as he made his way down to where he guessed (hoped) Ignis was.

No one he'd talked to had ever found a cellblock, therefore there were only three possible places it could be located, according to his (admittedly amateur) deductions. One was inside Environmental; it probably contained laboratories, he thought, because it was shielded, temperature-controlled, and consumed huge amounts of power – the kind of place Prompto would build if he wanted to contain daemons for experiments. The other was sandwiched between the adults' dormitories and their cafeteria, and Prompto couldn't imagine why anyone would design a living block where you'd have to walk past the prison all the time. It'd be a good deterrent, but he bet that area housed a gym or a shop or even a library. Maybe all of those mixed together.

Which left an uncharted corner of the sub-sub basement, squished between the generators and the loading dock for supplies. Prompto figured that prisoners probably came and left by a different entrance than the one high-ranking visitors like the Chancellor used. And access to the outside meant it'd be easier to walk them outside and... well.

Take them to Gralea. He wished he didn't know that was a euphemism. He kept picturing blood in a vivid splash, fanning out over the snow, hot enough to melt it at first, but then eventually freezing over.

The problem with learning that people had been lying to you all along was that it made you question what else you'd been mislead about. Maybe that was why so many of the older series were so cynical; maybe they knew something big, like why no one ever came back to visit after they'd been Evolved, even if they'd been sibling-close to the younger kids.

And – also terrifying – maybe fighting for the glorious advancement of the Empire wasn't all that glorious. Next year Prompto would have been eligible for axe training, if the chip took and he was still viable. He was a big kid – brawny – and he'd been assured he'd be solid muscle by the time he was ready to Evolve. Axes looked very cool when they were spinning. You'd have to be an idiot to mess with someone holding an axe – or, he thought, an enemy soldier. Because those axes would be used against people as well as mecha. You could take someone's head right off, and their blood would fountain all over, and you'd be a glorious murderer for the Emperor.

Prompto'd loved a lot of the older kids who'd raised him. He still remembered their names, as far back as the L series. Maybe they were already dead, and when his series was gone, too, no one would remember them at all. Thinking about it made him feel sad and sick, like something was stuck in his throat that he couldn't swallow down.

He arrived at the final elevator block and was relieved to see that the control booth overlooking the area was empty. He made himself tip-toe up the metal stairs – there was a closet there he could hide in if anyone showed up – and log into the system using a code he'd just grabbed from a guard. He unlocked the elevator, and then (just in case) did the doors out to the loading dock and one of the snowmobile garages outside.

Just in case.

For the same reason, he got dressed now, pulling trousers on over his gym shorts and adding a thick long-sleeved shirt. He swapped his sports shoes for his calf-length combat boots, tucking his cuffs in neatly, and pulled on his hat. It would be cold outside.

On the system map, the rooms in the sub-sub basement were called Containment, and access to their data was denied to anyone with under Security 4. Prompto's heart thudded. He was doing this; he knew he could; but only so long as he didn't let himself think about what he was doing, because it terrified him right down to the marrow in his bones.

He had one Security 6, a senior lab tech visitor from Gralea, who'd been very interested in Prompto's history of chip rejection, taking tons of blood samples. Prompto would normally agonize over wasting such a high-level code, but not today. He took a steadying breath, and swiped him in.

"Good afternoon, Dr Cretqa," the speaker chirped, making Prompto's heart leap in his chest like he'd been shocked. He accessed Containment, and found it ran the same creepy surveillance system used in the dormitories. He clicked through empty rooms until he found where Ignis was, lying curled up on the floor, legs tucked up to his chest. He zoomed in and saw that Ignis was bruised but breathing, which was good, and then clicked out to checked the patrols list.

There'd only been one person down to Containment that day, just past lunchtime, and Prompto bit his lip as he clicked on the video record. He felt guilty – he didn't think it would be good at all, and Ignis wouldn't want him to watch, but he told himself he needed to know.

The cell was empty except for a hole in the corner, which Prompto guessed was the toilet. Ignis sat against the wall on the opposite side, eyes fixed on the corridor as footsteps grew nearer. He was dressed in his underwear, a white vest and gray shorts, and was probably freezing. He was shivering hard, at any rate. When he saw the man appear – Lieutenant Rhisago, who taught machinery weapons – he pressed his back to the wall instinctively, like he wanted to get away.

Prompto listened to the first few questions, fired off with sharp impatience and to which Ignis replied he didn't know in increasingly dull distress, and then started skipping forward in time.

He began watching again when the Lieutenant made Ignis kneel in front of him and put his hands on the ground, and then watched in horror as he stepped deliberately on his left hand, bearing down with his weight while Ignis cried out.

Prompto stopped the video, making himself calm down, just like during live-weapons practice. No feelings on the field. Just think about what was needed to make a clean shot, his body an extension of the weapon: breathing calm, hands and eyes steady, center of gravity low. Find the enemy's weakness and exploit it.

Nisus, the thought leapt into Prompto's head, would know which of the older series were hackers, and they'd know how to distribute information. Even if Prompto was gone, he could still make sure the Lieutenant suffered.

He arranged for the video feed to be accessible in the N series dormitories for the next two hours – hopefully long enough for someone to notice – and as a backup held his tablet up to make a manual copy. Then he started the video again.

"You're nothing but a scared little boy," Rhisago said. "Aren't you?"

Ignis gasped in a breath. "I am."

Rhisago must have pressed down harder, because Ignis screamed.

"And you know what we do to little boys here."

"Sir," Ignis said. Prompto winced at how eager to comply he sounded. "You feed them. To daemons. Sir."

Rhisago stepped back, and Prompto could see Ignis forcing himself to stay still, to not try and protect his hands. Like maybe something worse would happen if he moved, and Ignis knew it because he'd made that mistake in the past. No wonder his fingers had been all messed up in Medical, if they were always getting broken and stepped on.

"No," Rhisago drawled, sounding amused to catch Ignis out. "You know that's not true. We turn them _into_ daemons to fight for the glory of the Empire, and when I decide _you're_ useless I'll have you turned as well." He prodded Ignis with his boot. "What will you do then?"

"I'd be a daemon," Ignis said obediently, breath hitching.

"And who will you kill?"

Ignis caught back a scared-sounding noise in his throat. Prompto had the horrible sinking feeling that he'd fought in the beginning, but now he had to hoard his energy for survival. "The – the king. The prince."

"And?"

Another shuddering gasp. "My mother. My father. My – the baby."

The toe of the boot landed hard in Ignis' side. " _And_?"

For a moment, Ignis looked panicked, as if he'd forgotten the answer. But then he replied in a rush, "Everyone?" Prodded again, he gasped out, "Anyone you say, please."

"The _Emperor_ says," Rhisago corrected. "You're a slow learner, Ignis."

There was raw terror on Ignis' face now. "I'm sorry – "

 _"Not sorry enough to tell me where the fucking King of Lucis is hiding."_ The shout echoed in the empty cell like the roar of a beast, and even Prompto cowered away, even though he knew he was safe. Ignis protested that he didn't know, he was sorry, he wished he knew, he'd say if he only knew, all while those boots kept coming down, on his hands and other places, until he went silent. At that, Rhisago stepped back, and brushed his hands briskly, as if they had been dirtied. "You'll get no food again today," he said, vicious, and turned to stalk out.

Prompto froze the image and snapped good clear shots of the barcodes on his uniform, while trying not to look at his furiously twisted face. He didn't understand how one boy could have made him so angry.

He felt as though the world he knew was like Rhisago: the superficial every-dayness peeling back to reveal a monstrous core. He wished he could disbelieve, but he kept thinking about all the MagitekTrooperz comics he'd read, with the generals in their big hats and epaulets ordering the might of daemons unleashed, and the cowardly Lucians fleeing before armored soldiers marching in perfect straight lines, axes gleaming and eyes in their masks a fearsome Imperial red.

He'd already done too much – somewhere, a tech must surely have noticed anomalous sign-ins and data usage from this terminal. Prompto still needed to get to Ignis, and to safety. With windows all around him, he found he was breathing too fast, but he still made himself do one last thing.

He had to know.


	2. Chapter 2

He used Dr Cretqa's account once more, to access the top-secret laboratories on level 3. He wasn't surprised that they were labeled Evolution in the directory, but it made him queasy. He had to jump around the video feeds there as well, but seven hours previously he found a boy, head shaved and naked, with his feet bound and arms strapped to his sides, being lowered by a robot-arm crane into a tube full of thick blue liquid in which a repellent darkness swirled. He could see other boys in tubes in the background, thrashing against the liquid and their bonds, the darkness drawn to them, clinging to their skin like a stain of corruption. Every one of their silently screaming faces was the same as Prompto's. This was – 

– he struggled to find a word.

 _Inglorious_ : not the smart uniform and gleaming armor and righteous marching on the cowardly Lucian enemy that they had been planning for. That they were literally made for.

 _Nightmarish_ , because suddenly the concept of Evolution was sinister. Not a metaphor for boys growing into men proud to serve the Empire, but, what, human into... whatever the Magitek Troopers had been all along, under their armor.

 _Wrong._ Prompto watched as the crane released the boy and retreated, as the tube was capped, as techs hooked another boy's harness to the hooks and he pissed himself in fear as he was pulled up...

Prompto sent that video out as well, and then used his Security Level 6 powers to turn off all the cameras on the east side lower levels, open all the cell doors, and then – what the hell – unlock all doors on the clone dorm levels, and all munitions lockers as well. That done, he logged out, grabbed his stuff, and ran.

By the time he got down to the cellblock corridor, Ignis was already halfway to the exit. He startled when Prompto appeared, hunching over even further with eyes wide and terrified.

"It's just me," Prompto explained. "We don't have much time, come on." And when Ignis didn't respond immediately, he went over to – well, not take Ignis' hand, that'd be a terrible idea. But he took his glasses off and put them on Ignis instead, so maybe he'd remember who he was. "Better?"

Ignis blinked, his gaze flickering – checking the error lamp still flashing on the surveillance camera and the open door, noting Prompto's boots and knit cap.

"Much," he said, and his voice was rough from all the screaming and crying, but not dazed. So maybe he didn't have a concussion, which would be good. "Where are we going?"

"Out," Prompto said, pointing. He realized now, a sinking feeling in his gut, that he should have checked the system for a map of the outside world and had a destination in mind. But Ignis didn't seem to care about his oversight, just nodded and let Prompto bustle him toward the loading dock.

They had to duck into a closet on the way there, to avoid a work crew carrying ladders who were complaining about the widespread systems malfunctions. _Those little fucking daemons_ , one of the men said. _Worse than rats in the walls. Crush one and ten pop up in its place._

 _They get what's coming to them_ , one of his partners replied, and all of them laughed. Behind Prompto, Ignis shuddered.

When the corridor was clear, Prompto made Ignis sit down on an overturned bucket and dressed him as quickly as he could. Ignis had bruises everywhere, and one of his ankles was hot and swollen. But he couldn't go outside in his bare feet, so Prompto laced the boots up tight, hoping that helped. Maybe. His clothes hung loose on Ignis' frame, but Ignis said, "Thank you," and sounded like he didn't mind.

Prompto was worried about Ignis' hands, which wouldn't fit in gloves (he rolled on a spare pair of socks, instead), and about the hard bruised knot of his abdomen, under his ribs. He thought he remembered from class that that meant internal bleeding, or possibly ruptured organs. Not a good thing, at all, but Ignis was awake and moving, so that meant he was okay, right? Prompto couldn't do anything if he wasn't.

"Come on," Prompto said, and they made their way down to the vast, empty dock, with a row of forklifts parked neatly on one side and a lonely pile of boxes on pallets in the center. Prompto slapped the big green button next to the door and gave himself a fist-pump when the doors slid open with a grumble of badly-maintained machinery.

The wind that whistled in was vicious and cutting, and it was worse outside. Ignis stumbled in the snow, and Prompto tried to hold him steady. Just the few meters to the snowmobile shed had them both breathing heavily, which... wasn't a good sign, not at all.

But inside the shed Prompto found a search-and-rescue locker, and Ignis shared his glee, if somewhat distractedly as he stared around. Prompto buckled both of them into white hooded parkas with the SR logo on the backs, and strapped two go-bags under the seat of the snowmobile he was planning to steal. Ignis got his own knit cap, in a striking orange that he eyed like it offended him, until Prompto pulled it down over his ears. There were weapons as well. Prompto grabbed a handgun and as much ammo as he could carry, and then tucked a couple of knives into his belt. Knives were useful.

"How old are you?" Ignis asked, watching with a sharp furrow between his eyebrows.

Prompto really hoped his confusion didn't mean he'd been wrong about the concussion. "P series," he said slowly, pointing at his chest. He pointed at Ignis, and added, hoping it jogged his memory, "I series." And then, because they needed to _go_ , he changed the subject. "Do you want to disable a snowmobile?"

Ignis shook his head, so Prompto was going to get all the fun to himself. He shouldered a drillbreaker from the locker and pierced the fuel tanks of the other seven snowmobiles. It made a gods-awful noise, and he wouldn't be surprised if the whole shed exploded from the sparking machinery and the fuel all over the floor, but that was okay. That was great! He'd always gotten good marks in demolitions.

"Come on," he said. He unclipped a couple of tactical shoulder straps from some of the bigger weapons – he kind of wanted to keep a grenade launcher, so... he did. The slippery slope really _was_ quick from minor infractions to major crime – he'd always thought their Morals teachers made that up to keep the kids in line.

He settled himself on the snowmobile seat, legs squished over the bags, and had Ignis slide on behind him. He clipped the straps together to make one big belt, fastening it tight around the both of them. Ignis ended up draped over Prompto's back, with his arms awkward around his neck. "Stick your hands in my coat," he suggested, since there was no way Ignis could hold on. "Pretend like I'm rescue-carrying you."

"Can you drive?" Ignis asked. He shifted, making little noises of pain, until both his hands were tucked nearly in Prompto's armpits. "Do you need your glasses back?"

Prompto grinned and held up the find he was proudest of. "I got goggles. With night vision," he added, pulling them on. He took a breath and thumbed the ignition.

The snowmobiles were noisy, and it always made him want to drive fast, like in one of the simulation games. But he eased out, slow and smooth, like he was training a younger series, turning onto the road to the left that led away from the base.

"Head north-northwest," Ignis said, right in his ear. "Towards the main railway line, we can follow that to Tenebrae. Stay clear of roads if you can – or, did you have another plan?"

"I've never been off-base," Prompto said, turning his head and raising his voice to keep the words from being blown away. "What's a railway like? I've seen trains in books," he added. "I read a lot."

The road crested the hill, and around the turn below them Prompto could see the guard tower and a couple of looming magitek armors. Time to go offroad, then. He steered right, swerving between the trees and following the rise of the land. The snow was thick, so it was hard to tell if a bump was grass or rocks, even with the visual processing power of the goggles. Still, he managed to build up speed once his body recalled how to use minute shifts of his center of gravity to fine-tune his steering.

At some point, Ignis had planted his chin sharply on Prompto's shoulder, and was giving him an irritated critique of his skills, with occasional interjections of _you maniac_ and _watch out_ and _aren't you young for road rage?_

"You're jealous," Prompto said in sing-song, jiggling Ignis with a gentle shrug.

Ignis hummed. "Envious, perhaps." And then a moment later, "The fence!"

Prompto waited until the snowmobile had skidded to a stop before rolling his eyes. Safety before sarcasm. 

"These things are cool," he explained, unclipping the grenade launcher from where it was slung around his chest. He set it up on his right shoulder, angling the barrel away from Ignis so he could hold it straight. "I'll show you how to use one when you're better."

"You're too kind," Ignis said, sounding fake-somber in a way that made Prompto suspect he was amused. He was older, after all: he probably knew tons about weapons. Prompto stuck his tongue out where Ignis couldn't see, and then warned him not to look right at the flash. Or the bang.

As soon as the grenade was in the air Prompto dropped the launcher – with regret – and pushed for maximum acceleration toward the fence. It blasted open with a gratifying noise and he threaded the hole just seconds later. Somewhere in the distance, sirens started wailing, and he felt the snow beneath the treads shiver like it was coming alive.

Ignis said bad words, a whole string of them, and Prompto had to yell at him to stop twisting around on the back seat.

"I'm not stupid," he shouted, because he didn't dare take his concentration away from their escape route in front. "I know the snow's coming down, that's why you never – ever – shoot grenades on the mountain."

That was, like, one of the first things he'd been taught about grenade safety. Apparently, one of the older series had accidentally buried an entire wing of the base in a grenade-triggered avalanche once, and by the time all the bodies were dug out, they'd been completely non-viable.

He'd considered asking about the fences at the time. He knew the guard towers needed a clear line of sight, which was why the forest was cleared on both sides of the fences, but that meant a lot of vulnerable, snow-covered hillsides just waiting to slide. It seemed like bad security. He'd thought his teacher would have mocked him, though, so he bit his tongue. 

And now – vindication.

With any luck, pursuers would assume the snowmobile was buried under the snow. At the least, his tracks would be partially erased, which might buy them time. The sun was already starting to set, so he'd be able to take advantage of darkness (unless there were daemons or flexitusks, but he was sure there wouldn't be, he was lucky now, right?). At least until they ran out of fuel, but he figured he could get them two or three hours away.

The goggles had a built-in compass, and it turned out that he was mostly heading north anyway.

Prompto had to stay focused because he didn't want them to crash and die, or crash and get (even more) horribly maimed. He was keeping an eye out for air transports, garulets, avalanches, magitek armor, and everything else. This rescuing business was a lot harder work than it was in books.

Ignis, though, got bored after a while of just making snippy comments about his driving.

"Prompto," he said, when they'd just crossed a stone arch about fifty meters in the air and barely two meters wide. "I'm going to ask you to remember what I say, can you do that?"

"Sure," Prompto said, giddy with adrenaline. He could do anything.

"My name is Ignis Scientia," Ignis said. "I'm from Insomnia. The Lucian capital."

Whoa. "You're a spy?"

"No." Ignis sounded indignant. "King Regis of Lucis brought his son to Tenebrae to be healed by the Oracle. I was – I am the prince's companion. Niflheim attacked Fenestala Manor unprovoked. The Oracle was killed, her children are most likely in Imperial hands, and... I was taken prisoner."

Prompto digested that. He'd heard different pieces of what sounded like the same story: that the Oracle had been attacked (by rebels, though, and Imperial forces had defeated them and saved the day). That the Oracle was in Gralea (but perhaps it was her children, or her body). If Ignis was a spy, he'd have needed a good cover story before sneaking into Niflheim to... steal state secrets, or magitek, or whatever.

But Ignis would be a _terrible_ spy. He was visibly a child, and people would ask him questions – what base was he from, where was his dorm-cohort. Even stuff the toddlers knew, like what series they were, he didn't even know to lie about. His own _name_ made no sense in Niflheim; Prompto could believe easily, though, that it was a Lucian perversion.

"I spied on you," he confessed, feeling guilt twist deep in his gut. "When Lieutenant Rhisago was questioning you, I watched the camera feed."

Ignis' chin dug in sharply for a moment, like he'd forgotten he couldn't curl up and hide here, and then he said, "I'm glad you took that precaution. I shudder to think what would have transpired should you have interrupted that... conversation."

He couldn't have sounded more condescending if he'd patted Prompto on the head and offered him a biscuit. But maybe it was good for him to have to be more mature and a good example and all that – if anyone patted _Ignis_ on the head, he'd probably fall to pieces. Or at least Prompto would, in his shoes.

"So anyway," Prompto said. "Your name is Ignis Scientia – " there were way too many syllables in Lucian names, and he bet it was spelled weird, too – "and you're from Insomnia, where you work for the king."

He waited for Ignis to say _good boy_ , but instead he just got a put-upon sigh. "Queen Sylva was murdered by a Niflheim general named Glauca. Not insurgents. He's about one-eighty, with brown hair. I know his face... he ordered me sent here. Silver armor. I couldn't find out more about him, but I hope... that helps."

"I don't understand why," Prompto said, after repeating all that in his head three times to make sure he remembered. "The Oracle's good, right? She cures people with," oh, oh _shit_ , "with the Starscourge," he finished in a tiny voice. He saw again in his head the struggling boys in glass tubes, and that terrible darkness that had started to feed on them. "I have some more intel for you." He told Ignis about what he'd seen in the laboratory. "I'm not a daemon, though," he felt compelled to add when he was done, because Ignis had fallen far too quiet. "I'm just me."

Ignis coughed, and his arms around Prompto's neck tightened. Not hard enough to choke him, but Prompto still worried until Ignis said, "You're a good person."

There it was, the condescension Prompto had been waiting for, but Ignis sounded so pleased that maybe he was being honest? Prompto should probably correct him: Ignis had no idea how bad it was to be a failed clone. But instead he felt his cheeks warm, and he smiled into the ruff of his parka.

"You're better than me," Prompto said, lack of experience making him awkward at both giving and receiving compliments. "And, um. We're going to be out of fuel in about twenty minutes."

Ignis leaned his head against Prompto's. "You have a plan?"

"North-northwest, look for the railway. And then?" he prompted.

"I imagine we'll be walking into Tenebrae." Ignis' voice sounded fake, like he was trying to be hearty and encouraging for Prompto's sake. "Will we be stopping for the night?"

"Here?" Prompto cleared his throat, trying to clear out the terror. "Have you ever killed a daemon?"

Ignis shook his head. "You?"

"I went out with the older series last summer, to catch some for the labs. They're – I mean. I nearly pissed myself, and those were the little ones. All they think about is killing and having fun, and what they do for fun is kill. But if you want to stop for the night, in all honesty, I think we'd be in just as much danger in a camp as out walking."

"I do enjoy the fresh air," Ignis said, "and both the amenities and the companionship are infinitely better here."

"Oh!" Prompto had forgotten. "I should have rations in our packs. We can have dinner at least." He really didn't want to ask, because if Ignis wanted to talk about it he could (and he didn't, so), but: "They fed you, right? You're not starving?"

The pause before Ignis spoke wasn't reassuring. "I could eat," he admitted. And then, as if allergic to admitting weakness, "but you needn't worry about it."

"Yeah, okay," Prompto said. "Sure. Like I don't mind at all that you're hurting or hungry, because what? I'm an enemy? Or not really human? Or – "

"No," Ignis interrupted, sharply, like his temper had finally frayed. "I haven't eaten in _days_. And everything does hurt, and all I want is to go home and I _can't_." He clicked his tongue, a sharp chiding _tsk_ that made Prompto want to cry on his behalf.

Prompto didn't know how to answer, but he spied an overhang fifteen meters ahead, and slowed the snowmobile as he steered for it. Food and shelter he could do. Home was something he was working on. Getting too close to the exposed skin of the mountain meant needing to proceed carefully, because water freezing in cracks led to chunks of rock falling off, making hazards under the snow. Even though he was going to be abandoning the snowmobile, he still felt protective of it and didn't want to see the skis and nose all bashed in. Not yet.

He parked as close as he could and helped Ignis off, keeping an arm around his waist as they walked up. Someone had made camp here before – good or bad, Prompto wasn't sure. He didn't like the implication that their movements might be predictable to anyone familiar with hunters, but on the other hand there was a firepit with a couple of logs set up like chairs on either side. He settled Ignis down on one and ran back for their bags.

They had ten ration meals between them, each providing half a day's required nutrients. Prompto thought Ignis should eat a whole one himself, because healing bodies needed energy; Ignis argued that he doubted he'd be able to finish, and he didn't want to waste food if he was ill.

"Okay," Prompto said, and Ignis squinted at him, suspicious that he was giving in so easily. Prompto didn't point out that only one of them would be able to eat at a time, and he might as well feed Ignis first. If they needed another meal after that, he'd heat one up.

He explained to Ignis how the meal heater used an exothermic chemical reaction – not magic – to produce heat in the outer pouch, making the entree hot, if not especially palatable, in under ten minutes. Pretty cool, even if the meals were... well.

Ignis wrinkled his nose when Prompto ripped the pouch open and stirred the insides up.

Prompto grinned. "We call this one Vogliupe vermin stew," he told Ignis. "It's mostly beans and cabbage and... whatever the cheapest kind of meat is." He filled a spoon, tested that the contents weren't too hot by holding it against his upper lip, and then told Ignis to open up.

Ignis did, obediently, for the first few spoonfuls which he gulped down with raw greed, barely chewed; but then he seemed to realize the indignity of his position. "I can feed myself." He shifted his sock-wrapped hands restlessly, as if actually contemplating taking over.

"My dorm-cohort," Prompto said, not wanting to contradict him directly, "was fed by the M series, who're being... Evolved, this year. Now. Our duty, when it came, was to take care of S series. I know you're – maybe not spying, but you're paying attention." Right now, Ignis' focus was on his words, and Prompto slipped in spoonful after spoonful, unnoticed. "I guess Insomnia is different, maybe you outsource your child-minding and don't learn how to drive until you're older." He shrugged, and used his thumb to wipe the corner of Ignis' mouth. "But we take care of our own. They're _our_ kids, and you know. Selfish genes. Even the snottiest little series is a clone just the same as the rest of us."

Ignis refused the next spoonful with a shake of his head, and Prompto made him drink some water next. Rations were salty.

"I had just one child to raise," Ignis said after a moment. "He's quite a handful."

"And you wouldn't think twice about doing this for him," Prompto guessed. Ignis made a face, like he was annoyed at being defeated by good solid logic. "You should try and eat at least one of the hard-breads. They stick to your ribs, probably because they're made of glue. If you mash them into the gravy like this," he demonstrated, "they get a bit of flavor."

Ignis laughed; well, gave a wan smile and a huff of air, but Prompto was heartened. "Lucis wouldn't need an army to conquer the Empire," he said. "We could just send cooks."

"Taste buds are for the weak," Prompto said, quoting Sergeant Cilo, who was in charge of the Nutritional Management Division. "Open the hanger, bread incoming."

Ignis rolled his eyes but accepted a mouthful. He swallowed and made a face. "That's a travesty, not bread."

Prompto scooped up another spoonful. "Incoming travesty," he said, and waggled his eyebrows.

In the end, Ignis managed to finish maybe a third or so of the stew and half a bottle of water; Prompto made quick work of the leftovers. He suspected Ignis would sooner explode than ask Prompto for help taking a piss, so he just hauled him over to the edge of the shelter and did what he'd do with a younger series (well, except for not writing bad words in the snow). Not weird at all.

Ignis seemed tired out just from that bit of exertion, which didn't bode well, but there wasn't anything Prompto could do, except push on toward Tenebrae. He'd asked Ignis how far away it was, and the answer he got wasn't encouraging. It had taken four hours by train, Ignis said, and another two or three by transport vehicle from the station to the base. Prompto checked his compass and didn't ask Ignis how fast trains traveled.

He knew they were the next fastest thing to airships. If they went only a hundred kilometers per hour, that was three hundred kilometers, plus another one-twenty to one-eighty, that was... well. If he considered they were taking a more direct route, not constrained by roads or rails, they might only need to go another three hundred kilos, thanks to the snowmobile.

He could do it in maybe two weeks. He had enough ammo to hunt. But with Ignis... he'd have to steal a car, he supposed. He'd never had a chance to drive one yet, but he doubted they were more complicated than magitek armor. He'd figure it out.

"We just need to get over the border," Ignis said, as if he'd been reading Prompto's thoughts. "The people of Tenebrae are loyal to the Oracle. And don't chew your fingernails," he added. "You'll ruin your teeth."

"I don't want to sleep here," Prompto said. "We're still too close. I'm going to lay down some misdirection, and then we'll leave."

"Fine," Ignis said, huffy again at being reminded that he couldn't do normal stuff. But then he added, "Be safe, and come back."

The last part came out almost like a plea, and Prompto gave him double thumbs up for reassurance.

He ran up to the stony ridge and then down again backwards, and then made a few loops all around, and then jammed the accelerator on the snowmobile on the lowest speed and sent it down the mountain, bouncing jauntily off rocks and trees until it was out of sight. Prompto felt a lump in his throat, but swallowed it down. That was what things were for, to be used for their purpose and discarded when they no longer served. He raised his hand, and waved goodbye into the darkness.

Then he turned around and headed back (also backwards; he needed to leave two sets of tracks). He wasn't that sleepy; he felt pretty good, actually, considering how terrified he was. He was trying to put up a front for Ignis, of being knowledgeable and competent and useful, but Ignis didn't really understand what a failure Prompto was. If he did, he'd be shaking in his stolen boots.

The walk should be easy, Prompto told himself. They were in the woods, and the night was warm, just a couple degrees below freezing. The snow was light and dry, and the trees broke the wind that howled over the top of the hill. He had his nightvision goggles, so nothing could sneak up on them. No worries.

Back in camp, he pulled on both their packs, one on his back and another over his chest, and put his arm around Ignis' waist to help him to his feet.

"You can walk, right?" he asked, peering into Ignis' eyes. He wasn't really tracking well after sitting for so long, but maybe he was just tired.

Ignis nodded, and then said, "Yes," and started forward. He limped badly, the arm around Prompto's waist tightening every time he had to take a step on his bad ankle. Prompto thought about finding a stick he could use as a crutch, but he didn't want to waste time digging around in the snow. Plus an advantage to being husky was that he was well-padded and comfortable to lean on. The younger kids fell asleep on him all the time; Prompto was used to that. Ignis was just a bit heavier.

They made it up the hill for maybe four or five kilometers before Ignis stumbled to his knees, yelping as he fell and tucking his hands against his chest protectively. Prompto grabbed a fistful of the back of his jacket ruthlessly, heedless of how uncomfortable it must be, and for a moment as Ignis swayed Prompto's grip was the only thing holding him upright.

"I can't," Ignis panted, and leaned against Prompto's leg. "I'm sorry. I – "

"Shh." Prompto looked around their surroundings. They'd been heading north-west, circling around the peak of the mountain, and the scrubby twisted trees were giving way now to rocks and the raw protruding stone walls of the mountain itself, the way he'd hoped they would. He knew places like this from maneuvers. There should be rockfalls, caverns, crevasses, some safe place they could hunker down until morning. He was gambling their lives that finding new shelter – even if it was subpar – was better than staying in a known hunters' camp. "Let me rearrange some stuff."

He nested one sleeping bag inside the other, and made Ignis stretch out inside. By stripping down one of the packs and hooking it into the other with the tactical shoulder straps, he rigged a harness so that he could drag the sleeping bags behind him. He had to push the snow he walked through to the side, to keep it from getting into the sleeping bags and weighing them down even more, but once he started moving he found a soothing rhythm, sure and steady.

The woods were eerie, the snow catching the light and making the unlit parts that much darker, the skeletal trees to his left clacking and groaning like beasts. (At least, Prompto hoped the noises were the trees; for all he knew, the woods were full of coerls and behemoths.) The snow this high up was light and dry, easily whirling up in clouds when the wind whistled by, but it came midway up Prompto's boots, and under it he could feel leaves and roots, stones, or the treacherous slick of ice. His instructors had always told him being slow was an advantage in the cold, that breaking a sweat was dangerous. So he concentrated on each step, bearing forward with the straps digging into his shoulders and tight around his chest. He could be patient. He was used to hard, satisfying work.

Ignis occasionally tried to argue that he could still walk (he couldn't) or that he was only going to hold Prompto back (true, but Ignis was their navigator). He was sulky about having to let a younger kid take care of him, and Prompto rubbed it in, figuring as long as Ignis had the strength to be irritated he wasn't going to die.

He didn't want to get to shelter only to find he'd been dragging a corpse the whole way. He didn't want the first person he killed to be his friend.

The trees at the crest of the hill were thinned by ice, the ground littered with shattered branches, and way off in the distance a fat orange moon with a bite taken from it was just drifting up over the horizon. The view made Prompto feel tiny and lost, so he pushed his goggles up and tugged Ignis around so they could look together. 

"It's been weeks," Ignis said, sounding shocked. "They – gods. Why – "

He choked down whatever he was about to say, but Prompto could guess. _Why hadn't anyone come to rescue him?_

Well. Here he was – weeks late, for which he was sorry down to the soles of his boots, but still...

"I'll get you home," Prompto promised again, even though before him the mountainside tumbled down into a vast black forest, moonlight revealing nothing human in the landscape. He'd still be walking when the next full moon rose, probably, and Ignis would be... "So don't worry."

Ignis shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on the moon and the horizon. Somewhere in the east, under that waning moon, was Insomnia: Ignis' home where his family waiting for him. Prompto regretted stopping to show him this, and wanted to reassure him that probably things weren't too bleak. No need for despair yet.

"Thank you," Ignis said. In the moonlight, his skin and hair had the same ghostly blue tint, and his eyes looked silver, until he closed them with a breath too weak to be called a sigh. "I didn't want to die in there. Or be alone."

"You're not going to be," Prompto said, and shook Ignis' shoulder. His head lolled. "Not dead, or alone." He ripped off his glove and placed his hand over Ignis' mouth and nose, heart hammering so hard he nearly overlooked the faint warmth that told him Ignis was still breathing.

He pulled his glove on and told himself that crying would make his eyes and face hurt, plus he'd dehydrate. He looked back at the moon one more time, and then aimed himself downhill and took one step, two, three.


	3. Chapter 3

When he looked up again, a white dog was standing a few meters before him, coat gleaming and tail wagging. It gave Prompto a questioning _yip_ , trotted away, and then looked back at him impatiently.

Prompto followed, feeling like he'd just fallen into a clone's-own-adventure story, like the ones the older kids wrote for the younger (it was surprising how few published storybooks featured clones at all, much less as the heroes). In this story, the dog would be leading him to a lost treasure, or maybe a child in danger, or showing him a secret Lucian invasion site. He guessed he'd be okay with all those options, except for maybe the treasure. Ignis was heavy enough that Prompto's whole body burned with the effort of pulling him; he didn't need lots of gold and jewels. Maybe just a few, if they were pretty.

As he walked, it started to snow again, at first light dancing flurries and then a dizzying swirl of snowflakes so thick that he could barely see his hand in front of his face. He had to keep stopping to brush snow off Ignis and the sleeping bags, and the dog fell back until she was walking at his side, pressing against his leg encouragingly. He scratched her head sometimes, when he started to worry that all this was just a dream. She always felt warm and solid, and seemed to like him. He wondered if he could keep her.

They'd been walking for an hour or two – three at the most – when Prompto thought he saw something that wasn't snow or trees, a glimmer of yellow light off in the distance. Either a daemon or soldiers come to kill them, or shelter. The dog barked and dashed ahead, and Prompto startled, blinking as he realized how syrupy-slow his thoughts had become and how unthinkingly he'd been moving forward. He hurt like he was bruised all over, and the cold had settled so deep in his bones that he knew warming up would feel like being dipped in fire. He was tired, and it was all he could do to move one foot, drag Ignis forward, and then take another step. But that's what he did.

And then suddenly there were voices, one loud and angry and one calm. The dog was back, barking excitedly and running in a circle around them. Someone cut Ignis free and Prompto nearly fell onto his face without the familiar resistance at his back. Arms were around him, persuading him forward, and he went.

He didn't even have the sense left to worry about whether these people were friends or enemies; he didn't have a choice. Inside their cabin, the firelight was dazzling and the warmth a shock. His gloves were stripped off, and then his jacket and shirts. He was sat down on the edge of a bed and his boots were removed, then his socks and pants and underpants, and the embarrassment at being naked came too slowly after the actual nakedness.

"Looks like just bruises," the boy from an older series in front of him said. He was funny-looking, like Ignis. Nearly the right colored hair, but the wrong shaped face, with features that fell easily into a pinched and sour expression. He was dressed like a soldier, in thick wool trousers and greatcoat, and Prompto had the dull thought that he was finished, now. He'd had his chance and blew it.

Prompto's hand was taken and the fingers pinched, and then the same was done for his toes. It hurt, and Prompto protested and tried to pull away.

"I'm helping you," he was told sharply. "Here, put these on." Some kind of clothing was shoved into his arms, and Prompto hugged the bundle to his chest. He could feel tears prickling at his eyes at the thought of what clothes meant. He didn't want a trial, or a public execution, or to be put in a cell and tortured like Ignis was. Taken outside and shot was fine by him.

After a moment, the boy huffed in irritation and turned his head to call over his shoulder, "There's something wrong with this child."

"Be kind," the calm voice advised, and Prompto realized he could move so he did, leaning to the side to peer over the shoulder of the boy in front of him. The speaker had long yellow hair peeking out from a knit cap, and a gentle-looking round face.

"Is that a girl?" Prompto asked the boy, who rolled his eyes.

"Of course she is, and she's my sister, so put on some damn clothes. She doesn't need to see," he gestured at Prompto, "that."

Which – _rude_. But Prompto lowered the clothes and sorted the pants from the top. A pair of socks fell from his numb fingers to the floor, and with an annoyed huff, the older boy picked them up and yanked them onto Prompto's feet. He helped when Prompto got his arms stuck in the shirt, too, and held him up while he wobbled into the pants. They fit badly, too tight around his stomach and too long in the leg, but he felt immediately warmer, and with warmth his worry returned twofold.

"Where's Ignis?" he demanded, getting up again and intending to walk across the room but instead swaying as if buffeted by strong wind.

"You should sleep," the boy said, but when Prompto refused to obey his jabbed finger and sit back down on the bed, he got up as well, brushing dirt from his knees. "He's alive, despite you doing your best to freeze him to death."

"Ravus," the girl snapped, calm displaced by anger, and the boy flushed, looking shamed. "Mind yourself."

"My apologies," he said after a moment. He held out his arm towards Prompto, and it took a second for Prompto to realize he was meant to lean on him for support. He thought about refusing, and then he thought about falling over and how stupid he'd look then.

He grabbed Ravus' forearm, and made his way over to where his sister sat, on the floor before the fire. Blankets had been set up to form a pallet, and Ignis lay on top. There were two dogs there now, and both of them were sleeping on Ignis' other side; neither the dogs nor the sister seemed to mind that Ignis had been likewise stripped naked (though he had a blanket pulled up over his hips to preserve someone's modesty; probably not Ignis', because he wasn't conscious, and Prompto couldn't see how that was a good thing.)

"They hurt him," Prompto said, trying to be helpful. But the words made his eyes start to water, and he scrubbed at them angrily. "He just wants to go home."

The girl exchanged a long look with her brother, and then smiled at Prompto, despite the way Ravus clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Ignis is known to us," she said, gently, as if trying not to upset him. "My name is Lunafreya, and my mother," she took a deep steadying breath, and Prompto suddenly _knew_.

"She was the Oracle," he said. Lunafreya looked sad even through her smile, and Ravus scowled even more fiercely. "I'm sorry."

"I miss her presence every day," Lunafreya admitted. "She was my teacher and guide – she was wise, and – " she tipped her head back just a bit, as if holding in tears – "I don't yet have her powers of healing."

Oh. "But," Prompto felt like he was falling, "we were led here. I thought, it was safe, you could help him."

"She is, dimwit." Ravus gestured towards what looked like a basket full of glass vials.

In response, Lunafreya held up several sheets of paper, scribbled over with heavy dark writing, lines and arrows connecting the segments, and certain crucial phrases circled and underlined. She smiled wryly.

"My messenger visited the King of Lucis, who sent me curatives," she explained. "Healing magic, made with the power of the crystal. The instructions are... complicated, but fear not."

"He's a coward," Ravus burst out, as if still seething from an earlier argument. "Hiding behind children – protected by children – I know what a phoenix feather is for, Lunafreya, I'm not a fool. This boy _died_ for him."

"He was injured at the hands of Niflheim," Lunafreya said, raising her voice impatiently. "Don't forget where you blame should truly lie."

"Queen Sylva," Prompto started, and talked over Ravus' curt _you have no right to speak about my mother_. "She was killed by an Imperial general. The same one who took Ignis," and because Prompto had made himself remember every word Ignis said, he recited them now.

Ravus... started to cry, which made him angrier, and he jerked away from Prompto to stomp outside, slamming the door hard.

"The Imperial Chancellor has been most solicitous of him, since – " Lunafreya's voice trailed off. "Betrayal on betrayal?" She took a breath and made herself smile up at Prompto again. "Come sit by me."

Prompto did, and because Ignis was right there, he reached out and put his hand on his chest. The rise and fall was soothing, and the worst of the bruising had faded to green and yellow.

"The curatives heal, but they won't set a bone properly, nor prevent scarring from older injuries," Lunafreya said. She sounded tired. "I've been advised to use them sparingly, until he can see a surgeon. The sleep he's in is magic I learned from my mother, to keep him still and free of pain. I thought he deserved that much."

"Thank you," Prompto said. "Can you heal Starscourge? They said the Oracle did."

"I never have on my own." Lunafreya held out her hand, and Prompto took it automatically. He felt a light tingle, like a summer's breeze, flow through him. "Ah. You're fine."

"Oh!" That hadn't been Prompto's worry at all, but he was relieved all the same, not to be harboring that kind of evil in him. "They only give the other clones Starscourge when they're old enough and have learned how to be soldiers, to make them into Magitek troopers. Lieutenant Rhisago said it turns them into daemons. He said he'd do that to Ignis, if he didn't cooperate."

Lunafreya's grasp tightened for a moment, in sympathy, and then released. "He was very brave."

"Right?" Prompto rubbed at Ignis's wrist. His fingers weren't swollen anymore, but neither were they straight, and he suspected they wouldn't bend properly, if at all. "I don't want the king to be bad," he confessed. He knew it was selfish. "He should be... worth this, somehow."

"Like Ravus, I also wish things had gone differently," Lunafreya said. "But I don't see how. Prince Noctis had to be saved above all, and the king... I believe he hated having to leave us behind. Yet he did." She sighed, and brushed her hands down the sides of her trousers as she kneeled up. "Stay with him? I need to persuade my brother to come back inside."

Prompto nodded, and she rose, pulling on gloves and a scarf that had been abandoned on the floor. The wind that howled in when she opened the door cut right through Prompto, and he did his best to shield Ignis.

When Lunafreya and Ravus returned, Ravus insisted that Lunafreya sleep. He glared at Prompto while saying how worn-out she looked, and how she was overtaxing her magic.

"I'll take watch," Prompto offered. "I'm not tired." He suspected he should be, and that maybe it was worrying to feel wide awake after all the events of the day, but he might as well make use of his energy.

"I'll keep an eye on the Niflheim clone," Ravus added. "Make sure he doesn't axe-murder us all in our sleep."

Lunafreya actually rolled her eyes at that, as if she couldn't believe her own brother was such an idiot, and Prompto warmed right up again.

Once Lunafreya was asleep, the white dog curled up at her feet, Prompto got bored enough to start talking to Ravus, who'd been hugging the black dog and staring into the fire.

Ravus was bored, too, Prompto guessed; at least, he let a conversation start instead of telling Prompto to shut up. Talking to Ravus was familiar and almost comforting. He knew Ravus hated him, so he didn't need to try to be liked. And he understood Ravus' frustration: all he wanted was for his country to be free and independent of the Empire, but with no army at his back – for which he once again expressed his loathing of Lucis at length – he was powerless, and needed someone smaller to lash out at.

"If you want an army," Prompto said drowsily, brushing his fingers through Ignis' (fairly filthy) hair, "I can tell you where to find one. You'd just have to take the babies and toddlers, too."

Ravus stopped mid-rant. "What?"

So Prompto told him about the dorms and the lessons, about Nisus and the tubes full of boys, about how he'd tried to give the older series tools for taking over, but he wasn't hopeful.

"Even if they did gain control of the base," Prompto said, the thoughts that had been whirling around in his head spilling out uncontrolled, "even if no one used their chips to incapacitate them all or make them non-viable, where would they go? We were created for one purpose, and what is a clone when it's not useful anymore?"

"How many bases are there?" Ravus asked. "In total?"

Prompto shrugged. "At least two, because I know there are girl clones as well. How many Magitek troopers are there? Divide that number by two thousand or so."

Ravus' eyes flickered in mental calculation, and then he gave Prompto a look that wasn't quite pity, but close enough. "Hundreds of bases, then." He pulled a knee up and rested his cheek on it. "Tell me what you know."

Prompto was sure that handing over military information was high treason, but... He got up and dug his tablet out of his bag, and brought it over. There were hours before dawn; plenty of time to tell Ravus everything.

*

"Morning," Ravus said, and Prompto startled. He didn't know when he'd dozed off, but he was curled in a ball on the floor, one hand clutching Ignis' wrist. Guiltily, he let go, hoping that he hadn't hurt him, and sat up stiffly. Lunafreya was getting up as well. Her hair was messy and it took her a moment to return the greeting. "We should depart. It's nearly dawn."

"Make us breakfast?" Lunafreya asked hopefully. She widened her eyes, and Ravus huffed and stomped and nevertheless went in the corner to put a kettle on. She crossed the room to settle down by Ignis again. "Has his condition changed at all?" 

Ravus reported that there'd been none at all, which was unnerving, even though Prompto knew magic probably explained why Ignis didn't shift or stir, aside from (thankfully) breathing.

"Let me wake him." Lunafreya placed both her hands over Ignis' chest, and Prompto thought he saw something spark from her – a glimmer of golden light, as faint as mist. She held her hands there, and Prompt watched Ignis be pulled up out of sleep: his face pinching as awareness returned, his breaths deepening as he gathered strength, and finally his eyes snapping open in terror.

"You're safe," Lunafreya assured him, using her touch to hold him down. "And out of danger, but not quite well yet."

"Lady Lunafreya," Ignis said dazedly, and then realized her hands were pressed to his bare chest. His eyes went wide, and he actually _blushed_. "You needn't – "

Ravus laughed at him; Prompto wasn't surprised. Ravus seemed like the kind of person who enjoyed others' discomfort. "You've embarrassed the boy."

"I mean no disrespect," Ignis apologized, still looking stricken.

"Rest," Lunafreya chided, giving him a stern look somewhat diluted by the fond amusement in her eyes. "I stopped the worst from happening, but you mustn't fight the healing."

Ignis looked like he wanted to argue, but he settled for squinting curiously at Prompto. It probably wasn't meant as a hint, but Prompto settled his glasses on Ignis' nose again anyway. "How many days has it been? How did we ever make it to Tenebrae?" He sounded more wondering than disbelieving, and Prompto liked the warm happy feeling of having done something right.

"I think this is technically Niflheim," Ravus said. Prompto could have kicked him for the way that made Ignis stiffen and once again struggle unsuccessfully to get up,

"We are safe," Lunafreya repeated, frowning at Ravus in reprimand. "From here it's a mere four or five hours to Port Trios, and thence your return to Lucis. My messenger has informed the king of your survival. He was... effusive in his relief, having believed you perished in the attack."

"And – " Ignis started to ask, but the question caught in his throat, his mouth open as if to speak but frozen.

"Noctis is fine," Lunafreya said, brisk and offhand, as if Noctis could not be anything else. Prompto thought she sounded dismissive, given how worried Ignis was, but Ignis sagged with relief, eyes falling shut for a moment. Lunafreya met Prompto's gaze for a brief second; she looked pained, and he thought he understood something then.

Ignis had been protecting the king, certainly, but he'd endured all that brutal torment for the prince, for Noctis, the sole younger series Ignis had charge of. Prompto let himself flood with jealousy just for a moment – he didn't want to know Ignis had a friend he was willing to die for; all Prompto wanted was to be Ignis' best friend and he probably never would be – but then let it go. If Ignis liked Noctis that much, he must be worthy, and therefore Prompto would try to get along with him, too.

If he was going with Ignis to Lucis. He didn't know, and that was something he didn't wasn't thinking about.

Fortunately, Ravus announced breakfast – runny instant gruel with dried fruit – was ready, and started filling bowls. Prompto fetched Ignis' clothes and told Lunafreya she should eat first, earning Ignis a little privacy as Prompto helped him get dressed. By the time Ignis was set (after an embarrassing but necessary sidetrip to the bathroom), Lunafreya and Ravus were done eating and had taken the dogs outside, to get ready for the trip north.

Ignis wasn't any fonder of being spoon-fed today, but he was ravenous and his insides could handle food better now that he was healed. Prompto was just scraping the sides of Ignis' second bowl of gruel when Ignis bit back a laugh and said, "This tastes terrible, doesn't it?"

"Ravus probably never learned to cook," Prompto said. "If you don't want the last of this – "

"I do," Ignis admitted. He gamely swallowed it down. "I was so sure I was dying last night that being here, seeing Ravus and Lunafreya, feels so unreal that I almost believe I did die. So the porridge being awful is good, because it means I'm alive."

"Or in hell," Prompto pointed out, finishing the last of his with a grimace. He stared down into the bowl. "I'm really glad you're still viable."

"Mostly," Ignis said. He'd been testing his fingers since he woke, seeing how far he could bend or open them, whether he could grip things like the hem of a shirt or a button. With the swelling and bruising mostly gone, the damage was much more evident, and Ignis' frustration at each new limitation discovered had started to turn into carefully-banked fear. The fact that he could hobble around gingerly on his not-so-broken-now ankle didn't make him as pleased as it did Prompto; likely, Ignis wanted to be able to run and fight, to protect Lunafreya and Promtpo, his youngers, instead of being the one incapacitated.

"Lunafreya said you'll be fine," Prompto reminded him. "You don't want me to tell her you think she's a liar, do you?"

Ignis' eyes narrowed behind the scratched lenses of Prompto's glasses. Prompto grinned and went to wash up while Ignis struggled into his coat all by himself. He managed everything but the front fasteners, and Prompto did them up for him without a word.

Venturing outside, they found Lunafreya deep in conversation with an older woman, and Ravus readying the car. The woman had long black hair, and Prompto supposed was a teacher or a guardian, even though she was wearing a short skirt and open-toed sandals in the subzero weather. Probably they were Magitek clothes, or she was a cyborg. He suspected the latter – she didn't open her eyes, either, which unnerved him. Adults were weird.

Ignis greeted her with a bow and called her Lady Gentiana. She didn't respond to him, but he didn't seem to mind. Prompto was glad that she ignored him as well, and skirted around her to help Ignis get settled in the car.

Lunafreya insisted on giving Ignis one of the remaining potions before the ride started, despite his insistence that he wasn't in pain: the road, she said, was long and rough, and (she lowered her voice) Ravus wasn't the best driver. The magic flowed over Ignis like liquid fire, and it was easy to see how much better he felt almost immediately.

Lady Gentiana rode in the front, apparently reading the map for Ravus even though she still didn't open her eyes; Prompto sat in the middle of the backseat, because he was the youngest, and the dogs had hunkered down with their bags in the storage space behind the seat, whining in protest whenever the car jerked between gears or went too fast over the icy road. The car had chains on the tires, and they made a ferocious noise that Prompto was terrified would bring them to the attention of the Imperial troops.

But at the first roadblock, Lady Gentiana simply smiled at the soldier who asked to see their papers, and he waved them through with a bored expression, as if he'd seen nothing unusual.

Ignis had been rigid, breathing fast and hands clenched as tightly as possible, and as the car moved forward, he shuddered hard and slumped against Prompto's side. Prompto rubbed his arm, and in a matter of minutes Ignis was fast asleep. _Magic again_ , Prompto thought, and as his own eyelids grew heavy he wondered whether it was Lunafreya's, or the King's, or Lady Gentiana's. Even the dogs were magic, he was pretty sure, and he drifted off to sleep, his head settling on Ignis', and dreamed about chasing after the dogs through endless fields of blue flowers, dancing in a warm spring breeze.

*

Prompto woke when they reached the port. There were long low buildings that led up to the water, and Ravus pulled between two of them, applying the parking brake with neck-jolting vigor.

"All out," he said curtly, looking around as if wary of being spotted. Which made Prompto nervous, too, and he followed after Ravus, one bag on each shoulder, with Lunafreya on his heels, lending Ignis an arm to lean on.

Through the warehouse door, Prompto saw a group of people seated around a table, playing some kind of card game to pass the time. They all looked weary, as if they'd been traveling, too, and without changing their clothes or bathing. One of them was definitely the King. Prompto was confident of this; he'd read any number of illustrated books, and he knew a king when he saw one. This one wore a suit and a cape, but no crown, probably because he was in disguise, but he had an unmistakable air of authority.

Plus, the instant Ravus caught sight of him his back snapped straight and he nearly glowed with the force of his fury. Lady Gentiana, prudently, moved forward to referee as he stalked over to argue with the King.

Prompto was more interested in Ignis' reunion, though.

He knew from the same books that princes were fierce warriors, despite wearing white stockings and short pumpkin pants. They had swords and killed daemons and defeated the Emperor's enemies. Ravus looked like a picture-book prince, right down to his haughty demeanor.

Prince Noctis didn't.

He was in a wheeled chair for one, and Prompto's first thought was that he couldn't be a prince if he wasn't viable. But he was ashamed of himself in the next second. The next thing he saw was how the prince's face lit up with desperate urgency the second he saw Ignis, calling his name as he dropped his cards on the table. Ignis jerked, moving forward as if he wanted to break into a run, and Prompto trailed after him, making sure he didn't fall.

"You changed your specs," Noct said, sounding distraught as he wheeled as close as he could. He threw his arms around Ignis' middle and pressed his face to his side, and Ignis hugged back just as fiercely. He let out deep shuddering breaths, as if he'd been holding himself tense for too long, but here he could finally permit release.

"Let them have a moment," Lunafreya said softly, leading Prompto off to the side. "I believe the King wishes to speak with you."

She didn't ask if that was what Prompto wished; he didn't know what he'd have said if asked.

Fortunately, there'd been a rumor once that the Emperor might visit the base (though it had only been the Chancellor, in the end), and all the clones had been trained in proper etiquette. So when, after a while of being yelled at by Ravus, the King made his way over, shadowed by a team of guards, Prompto bowed stiffly at the waist, holding his hand over his heart with his wrist turned to display the barcode, and said: "P Series 0595-3234, Your Imperial Eminence."

One of the guards laughed, but Prompto ignored her because King Regis had placed both his hands on his shoulders, and told Prompto that he owed him a great debt.

"Ignis is as close as a brother to Noct," the King went on, "and we'd believed him dead. His return is... a relief. Like a miracle of the gods." Lunafreya had cryptically implied that it literally was, but Prompto knew better than to interrupt with a correction. "Please think about what reward you would like."

Oh, oh, oh, Prompto _had_ been thinking about this, and he'd already decided. "If it please Your Imperial Eminence," he said, cribbing his wording shamelessly from _Prince Iedolas and the Glacian Gambit_ , "what I most desire is – please, can you have your doctors fix Ignis' hands? They got broken, and he's... he wants to be viable again, and useful and not sad."

Ignis wasn't helping Prompto plead his case, since he was laughing with Noct now, their foreheads pressed together as they shared a joyous private conversation. Prompto almost wanted him to be less happy, to show the King know how serious this was, except he liked seeing Ignis smile. He never really had, until now.

King Regis was giving Prompto a peculiar look, and Prompto pulled himself up, tucking his shoulders back and raising his chin. Good audience-of-the-Emperor posture.

"That was never in question," the King said finally. "Ignis shall want for nothing, I promise you."

"Good." Prompto let out a breath; posture took a lot of effort. And then he realized that might not be how he was supposed to talk to royalty. "I mean – thank you. Your Imperial Eminence." Then he remembered one other thing, and he caught at the King's sleeve to keep him from walking away. "Can you tell Ignis' parents he's alive? Or did you already? He was – he worried about them," he said, editing the truth.

The King looked even wearier, and shook his head at the soldier who'd stepped forward automatically to protect him. Prompto let go in guiltily realization that he shouldn't be manhandling kings like errant younger kids. "I'm afraid he has only an uncle. But rest assured, we have sent word that he's been found."

"Ignis has parents," Prompto corrected him stubbornly. Even kings couldn't know everything, he supposed. "And a baby." The King frowned, as if Prompto was wasting his time telling stories, and it rankled to be thought a liar. "He _said_ so."

Prompto dropped his bag to the ground, yanking the zipper open to dig his tablet out, heedless of the ration packs and ammo that spilled free. He hated that video and definitely didn't want Ignis to hear, so he lowered the volume as he scrubbed back to where Ignis was being forced to talk about murdering his family, and then shoved the tablet into the King's hands.

He stuck his fingers in his ears – listening once had been bad enough – and watched the King as his face stiffened in realization of what the video was. His stern eyes flashed and glowed: not the deep red of Magitek troopers, more of a pinkish-purple, but Prompto still froze in terror.

The soldier said something urgent to the King, and Prompto had to move his hands even though he didn't want to. He needed to hear, even if it was bad. " _Sire_. Six's sake, you don't need to see that." He tugged on the tablet, taking it away from the King, and frowned at the screen for a moment before figuring out where to tap to turn it off.

Prompto stood there, heart pounding in his chest.

"That," the King said, speaking to the soldier, "is a war crime." His expression was nearly blank, but his eyes still swirled with unnatural light. "He's just a boy."

"One who figured out how to lie under torture," the soldier said. He looked down at Prompto. His eyes were brown like his hair, and he was taller than the King. "What's your name?"

Prompto repeated his introduction, giving both his numerical code and his use-name this time.

"I'm Cor," the soldier said. "You know you were very brave."

Prompto shrugged that off. "It's not hard, if no one's hurting you."

Cor dropped into a crouch so he could be on eye level with Prompto. "Regis told you the truth – there was a fire years ago, and Ignis' family died. He was very clever to use his grief to distract his torturer."

Which meant... Ignis _had_ known all along where the King was hiding, Prompto guessed, but pretended he didn't know, that he was just a scared child who wanted his parents. _That_ was brave.

"That man's name's Lieutenant Rhisago," Prompto said. "He's a teacher."

"Did he harm his students?" The King's piercing stare felt like he was looking inside Prompto and would see if he was lying.

Prompto blinked. He didn't intend to lie, but the truth was complicated. "His class was machinery weapons," he said finally, feeling like he was failing a test. "We got shot and shocked and stuff a lot, but on accident. Hardly anyone ends up non-viable, so – he was a good teacher?" He pulled his shirt up at the side to show the scar over his hip, a red fingerwidth-wide score from a live-ammo misfire. "Like this. No big deal."

The King sighed. "Every MT," he asked, "is a daemonized child like this?"

"So Nox Fleuret said. He thinks it proves the depravity of the Empire on the one hand, and might supply child mercenaries on the other." Cor reached out and carefully lowered Prompto's shirt back into place. "You owe me, Regis," he said, even though he wasn't looking away from Prompto. "I've never called in any favors, but – dibs on this one."

Prompto's eyes flooded with stupid hot tears, even though he was trying so hard to be strong. Maybe he was going to end up killed in Lucis. Or in jail.

He tried to ask as if the answer didn't matter. "Why do you want me?"

Cor started to say something, but the King cut him off rudely, with a gesture. Maybe no one had had the nerve to teach him manners?

"If you wish, you'll return with us to Insomnia. As a citizen," he added. "Not as our prisoner. Cor is offering you his home to live in. You'd study with Noct and Ignis. Undoubtedly, information you have about... growing up in Niflheim would be invaluable."

"I'd be a traitor," Prompto said reflexively. Though now he was less and less certain that he knew what that word meant.

The King ignored his outburst. "You have also, I've been informed, a standing invitation to the court of the Prince of Tenebrae and the Oracle. I suppose you might even return to Niflheim, though that would not be _my_ wish for you. It is, however, an option."

Prompto was unaccustomed to options, especially ones so large. But if he thought about _people_ instead, then he had to choose Ignis, or Ravus, or Lieutenant Rhisago and others like him.

He looked at Cor. "How many kids do you have?" No one ever wanted to be new to a dorm-cohort; that usually meant something terrible had happened, that no one would speak about.

"No kids," Cor said. "I get up to fifty recruits a year, from ages sixteen to twenty. But," he added at Prompto's confusion, "training's available to younger applicants as needed. I've ten of them now, including Prince Noctis."

"He can't walk," Prompto pointed out.

Cor winced and his eyes flicked pointedly to the King. Noct's _father_ (even though they looked nothing alike; people who weren't clones were weird). Whoops.

"He can, but he's not fully recovered. Queen Sylva, may the stars guide her on, healed him."

Died, he meant. Or _was murdered_.

"Lunafreya helped Ignis," Prompto said. She'd done a lot more than he had. "He was – I don't think he was viable when we found her."

"Yet there he stands, laughing at one of Noct's terrible jokes. Eminently viable," the King said.

Yearning rose up in Prompto, terrible and unstoppable. "I want to help him get better," he blurted out, and then added so he didn't sound entirely selfish, "and Noct, too. I can help." He sucked in a deep breath and stood straighter, enough that all his stomach muscles hurt. "And if you ever do need to have me shot out back," he looked at Cor, hoping he could trust him to do this at the least, "tell Ignis I ran away? He'd... I don't want him to worry."

"You have my word," the King said, which was good – kings in stories said that. Prompto supposed that was that. He was going to Lucis. He'd been promised.

"Okay," Prompto said, and looked over at Ignis and Noct. As if sensing his gaze, Ignis half turned, squinting as he spotted Prompto. He tilted his head like an invitation; Noct, twisting to look past Ignis, reached out a hand.

"Go on," Cor said, dismissing Prompto with a nod. "The prince has been keen to meet you ever since Lady Lunafreya sent him that message."

Prompto backed away, nearly tripping over his own feet with nerves, until he saw that the King and Cor were too engrossed in discussion to pay any attention to him. Then he turned and pulled on what he hoped was a friendly smile and went to introduce himself to Noctis.

"Are you really a clone?" Noct asked. He caught Prompto's hand in his and tugged until he could get a good look at the barcode.

" _Noct_ ," Ignis said, out of the corner of his mouth.

Noct looked up at Ignis with wide-eyed guilelessness (definitely fake, Prompto decided). "Is it rude? I've never met a clone before. Have I?"

Ignis made an apologetic face at Prompto. "As far as I know."

Noct let Prompto go and dug something out of a jacket pocket. "Here, You can have this – I want you to. It's for staying safe, and watching over you in your dreams."

Prompto accepted the small figurine – a snow fox, perhaps, with outsized ears – with clumsy thanks, aware of Noct's dark eyes on him and the way Ignis' breath caught. Its carved lines were worn away in places, as if Noct had clung to it for comfort by habit or necessity.

"It's magic?" Promoto asked. "Do you do magic, too?"

Noct shrugged, dismissive. "Mostly it gets done to me."

Ignis made a small hurt noise at that.

Prompto looked the figurine over again once more, and then handed it back. Despite his generous intentions, Noct clutched it to his chest as if the separation had hurt.

"I already got a reward from the King," he said. "Thank you, though. Maybe," he added, because Noct was looking stubborn and Ignis wasn't as steady on his feet as he was pretending, "we can go sit down and you can tell me about Insomnia and Lucis? What's it like, what's good and what's different. And I can tell you about being a clone, I guess. It's not very interesting."

Noct paused a moment, as if judging Prompto's sincerity, and then rolled back a bit so he could turn toward the table. Prompto followed, with his arm around Ignis' waist and matching his slow, limping pace.

"Tell me if you need more potions," he said under his breath. "I'll go ask Lunafreya."

"What did King Regis say to you?" Ignis asked instead of answering. "He looked upset."

Prompto wondered if Noct's eyes could also change color when he was angry. "He said I could be a citizen, and live with Cor. I think... I want that."

Ignis let out a breath, and for a moment he leaned heavily into Prompto as they walked. Prompto nearly asked him if he was feeling bad when he was struck by an alien thought. "Were you worried about me?"

That was answered by a short hum of assent, and then Ignis looked over at him seriously. "Of course I was."

The thought made Prompto feel like he wanted to cry, again, but he swallowed down the lump in his throat. He was accustomed to people's unwelcome concern that continuing to feed and train him was a waste of Imperial resources. This was...

"We're friends," Ignis continued, with a slight shrug, as if stating an obvious truth.

 _Friends_ , Prompto repeated to himself, and started to smile. Not being alone felt good; friends was better. He decided he was going to make friends with Noct, too, and Lunafreya, and Ravus, and maybe even the King and Cor and Gentiana, though he wasn't sure friendship was possible with adults. He was going to try, though, and he was going to be happy. The thought finally melted away the last of the bone-deep winter chill, making him warm all the way through.


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few years later...

"Ignis!" Prompto shouted, as soon as he saw him waiting at the foot of the Citadel steps. "Hey!"

"They don't miss you in Tenebrae because they can still _hear_ you," Ignis said, but he was smiling and not upset so Prompto grabbed him and hugged him tight. Ignis hugged back, in that stiff _there, there_ way of his, but Astrals above, Prompto was still – always – so grateful he was alive that even his peculiar mannerisms were endearing. "I trust you had a pleasant journey."

Prompto thumped him on the back one last time and then pulled away. "Dude, I sent you like a hundred pictures. It was awesome."

"I see the corruption of your accent proceeds apace."

"It drives Ravus up the wall," Prompto agreed happily. "And it makes Lunafreya laugh, so, win-win." And then he realized Ignis had gone and _grown_ again. "I thought I caught up with you at last," he mourned, sliding his palm from the top of his head through the air until it bumped – damn it – into Ignis' shoulder. "I've been stretching and running and everything."

"Alas," Ignis said, with a ruthless lack of sympathy and a smug gloating smirk. He gestured toward the stairs, and Prompto followed him – and his stupidly long legs – up toward the main entrance. Ignis had a very slight limp, as his injured leg had healed stiffly, but he always said it didn't hurt and he barely noticed, so Prompto needn't worry. "Although you might have surpassed Noctis, if you must lord your new height over someone."

That was a cheering thought. "I'll pencil that in, right after beating him at his favorite video game." And then, because the last person Ignis ever talked about was himself, "So how have you been doing?"

"Quite well," Ignis said. "Thank you for asking." But he couldn't let that stand; he had to be an ass about a totally normal question. "Still two years older than you and more than capable of taking care of myself." He shot Prompto a calculating glance. "I've begun training with the Crownsguard."

"Oh, cool." Prompto skipped a few steps ahead so he could turn around and hold his hand up for a high-five, which Ignis returned hard enough to make Prompto's palm sting. "What weapons are you training on?"

"Daggers." Which was, like, peak Ignis. The surgeries he'd had to fix his hands had involved re-breaking a bunch of bones and putting in wires and pins and metal plates. Even though the King had used magic to heal everything even before the sleeping potion had worn off, the rehabilitation – regaining range of movement and flexibility – had been frustrating Ignis ever since.

So of course it made sense that he was learning a fighting technique that relied on manual dexterity and probably those amazing Galahdian acrobatics as well. Which would put pressure on his weaker ankle...

But Prompto wasn't going to fuss, even though the evidence of what had happened was right there in front of him: Ignis' hands and wrists still in braces, his skin spiderwebbed with surgical scars. Whatever. Ignis, as he kept saying, was older and therefore wiser, and tired of being fussed over as if he were still convalescing.

"We could train together," he said instead. "I'll ask Cor. It'll be fun," he added defensively, because now Ignis was looking at him with doubt. "What do you think I just spent half a year doing?"

"Offering guidance on the deprogramming of an army of clones was, I believe, the official intended purpose of the assignment."

Prompto scoffed. "That doesn't mean telling people not to use their whole lifetimes of weapons training and stuff. Just to learn more and different things, and think about what they _want_ to do, and become." 

He was still working on all that himself, so he knew firsthand how tempting it was to not want to throw away all his hard-learned skills. He'd shed blood mastering them, and people he knew had died trying. In the end, a good soldier was viable, no matter whose army he or she fought for; almost everyone they'd liberated gravitated to armies, whether Ravus' or the multiple rebel cells popping up all over Niflheim, occupying base after base to liberate the children there. It was a lot harder to convince the clones who'd defected that they could be bakers or farmers or factory workers or auto mechanics – those professions were all terrifying and unknown. Like being a photographer. Prompto was still playing with that idea.

"So you've been a thorn in Ravus' side, I take it."

"That's why he sent me back to you." Hopping up the last few steps to the top, Prompto threw his arms wide and did a quick spin, embracing all of the Crown City, with all its thousands of unique people and unwieldy names and glittering modern buildings. When his uniform sleeve pulled back, the band he wore to cover his barcode peeked out, and Ignis caught him by that wrist and gave him a no-nonsense shove in the direction of the doors.

"His loss. It's good to have you home," Ignis said, squeezing once before letting Prompto go. The doors slid open to admit them to the entrance hall, and they passed through the security check and headed for the elevator block. "You'll be reporting to the Council?"

"Tomorrow," Prompto said. "I pulled strings."

Ignis' look suggested he knew that that was a euphemism for _whined about it to Noct until he pestered his dad on Prompto's behalf._

"Are you expected home for dinner?"

"Cor said I should go play with my little friends, quote-unquote." Prompto shrugged. He liked Cor, and he trusted him even when he didn't feel he could trust himself. He'd had to talk with a therapist when he'd first arrived in the city, which he'd tolerated at first because Ignis had to go see one, too. (And that was just because _he'd_ been tricked into setting a good example for Noct, Ignis had complained later.) Cor had thought at first Prompto would acclimate himself to life in the city and start attending school, maybe play sports or something. _You should have a chance to be a regular kid_ , he'd said once.

As Prompto got on the elevator, he thought that ship had sailed long before he got on the King's boat and sailed away from Niflheim. He was never going to have that, and... he didn't mind. He took lessons with Noct, who had been astoundingly ignorant about even basic calculus or physics, but who thought everything Prompto knew about history was hilariously wrong ( _a refreshing perspective_ , their tutor had said, _and one a future leader should bear in mind_ ). He and Noct helped Ignis get better, and Ignis and Prompto had Noct walking unassisted in under eighteen months (Ignis had kept a calendar; Lunafreya sent Noct stickers to mark milestones).

Cor had introduced Prompto to Gladio, Noct's Shield, which meant bodyguard as near as Prompto could tell. They were allowed to spar sometimes, though always supervised, because everyone was still afraid Prompto would forget he wasn't supposed to actually kill (his therapist had a term describing that, but Prompto made a point of not remembering). Gladio took him out running, all over the city with no guards, and didn't go easy on him. Some days, Prompto lived for those runs: the burn in his lungs, the ache of his muscles, the way his head cleared of everything except how it felt to fly.

He didn't feel like he had to be anything when he ran, he just was.

He'd been passing the gift along, taking other clones out running all over the hills of Tenebrae. Even Nisus came with him a couple of times, despite the injuries he was still recovering from. Prompto had been shocked to discover that between all the exercise plus finally hitting a growth spurt, he now looked nearly identical to Nisus. He found himself excited, for the first time, to think about what they'd all look like when they grew up.

"Here we are," Ignis said, when they reached the sixteenth floor. "I know Noct's been eager for your return."

 _Eager_ was an understatement. As soon as Ignis admitted them to Noct's rooms, Noct threw the pen he was using for homework towards the both of them and warped, there by the desk one instant and then not in the blink of an eye, reappearing right in front of them, pen caught in his fist and grinning fiercely. He clapped his free hand on Prompto's shoulder, in the spirit of an embarrassed embrace, but let go before the gesture could be returned.

"Cool," Prompto said, in appreciation of Noct's much-improved control (while at the same time Ignis sighed, _how many times have I told you, not in the house, Noct_ ).

"Right?" He looked over his shoulder to where Gladio was squinting down at whatever assignment he'd been working on. "I'm taking a break now." He probably meant that to come out as an order, but it sounded unsure, like he was asking permission.

Gladio let him squirm for a moment, and then shrugged. He was dressed in training wear, which was minutely less intimidating than when he was in uniform. "I guess. If the boss says it's okay."

The pleading look was redirected to Ignis.

"For a few hours," Ignis allowed, trying to look stern but unable to hide the fond amusement in his eyes. "I understand you've already requested the kitchen staff to prepare pizza."

Noct rolled his eyes. "It's a party, isn't it?" His expression darkened. "If you told them to add peppers or, or mushrooms, you'll have to eat it _all_ by yourself."

"Hardly a threat," Ignis murmured, but he let Noct drag him into the former nursemaid's office, which had been turned into a gaming room, with sofa and chairs facing a wall-mounted TV.

Prompto trailed after, answering Gladio's questions about how his trip had been, and whether he'd seen any wild animals from the bus. Gladio muttered _not again_ when Prompto pulled his camera out, but he flipped through the pictures with interest. A whole herd of spiracorns had stopped traffic for half an hour as they crossed the road, and Prompto had gotten some amazing close-ups. 

"Do that later," Noct said. He'd deposited Ignis on the sofa with a game controller, and now he tried to push Prompto down as well. Prompto dug his feet in, for no reason except to annoy Noct. "I've been waiting for you to get back to start the new MoogleKart."

"He has," Ignis confirmed, sounding long-suffering the way he did during driving lessons when Noct kept asking if there were there yet. (Ignis believed speed limits were meant to be obeyed, mostly.) Prompto felt his cheeks start to burn with a squirmy kind of happiness: the game was released two weeks ago. Probably either Gladio or Ignis had queued up at midnight to buy it, but yet...

"You want to play, too." Noct sounded pouty, and he threw himself backwards, so Prompto collapsed on top of him and they both ended up half-crushing Ignis.

"Sorry," Prompto yelped, feet kicking in the air futilely. He reached his hands out to Gladio for rescue, and nearly got both shoulders dislocated as he was jerked up to sitting. "Anyone hurt?"

"Noct will be, if he doesn't move this instant." Even muffled by a faceful of black hair, Ignis sounded very convincingly threatening, and Noct flailed upright with his own muttered apologies. 

"Ignis is going to destroy you." Gladio smirked at Noct as he tossed him a controller and started the game. "You messed up his hair."

In the beginning, Prompto hadn't really understood what Noct's games were _for_. Ignis and Gladio loaned him books, but Noct kept asking Prompto to join him in running these odd simulations. Racing a car, or assassinating people in ancient Solheim, or collecting treasures while avoiding tonberries.

"It's just fun," Noct had told him, squinting like he wasn't sure Prompto wasn't teasing him. "You want to play something else? I have Cactuwarriors," and he changed the disc in the system.

But that was more of the same, and Prompto eventually abandoned playing in favor of just watching Noct and trying to parse his reactions. When Noct got his cactuar rogue to the mountain fort and the cutscene with the Commanduar began, Prompto suddenly understood. The games weren't testing tools, they were about learning how to create your own story: how to make friends or save the kingdom or win a race.

And because of that, everyone could get something different out of the same game. Noct liked winning competitions, and Gladio liked beating him just to make him angry. Ignis fought just as hard off-screen, forcing his fingers to manipulate the buttons and levers deftly. Prompto was sucked in by the thrill of starting a new story, the promise and potential of building his own future.

Once upon a time, he'd been born to be Evolved into a daemonic Magitek warrior, but his genetic flaws barred him from his destiny. That was how his story ended. But now he has friends and choices to be made. He's ready to let the great game of his life begin.


End file.
